"Well, I don't know what to think. You bet me that you would commit a crime. In a few hours there is a robbery, and a little later a woman is killed in the very house where the Remsens lived. It is known,--there is another account in another paper here--it is known that you were in that house for an hour, after 11:30 at night, and that whilst you were there a woman was heard to scream from that apartment where the corpse was found. Then here they find the jewels, and the case had your name on it." "The woman's name you mean. The paper made that deduction I think." "That is true. I did not think of that. Of course it was her name, but don't you see I am all muddled up and excited. I came here to ask you to say outright that you have had nothing to do with this thing." "That is impossible." "What, you refuse? You will not claim that you are innocent? Then you practically admit that you are guilty!" "I do not. I neither deny nor admit anything. Do you remember our wager? I told you then that this crisis would arise. That you would hear of some crime and come to ask me about it. I warned you that I would refuse to enlighten you. I simply keep my word." This was followed by a silence. Mr. Randolph seemed much disturbed. Jamming his hands into his pockets he went and looked out of the window. Mr. Mitchel looked at him for some minutes with a smile of amusement hovering about his lips. Suddenly he said: "Randolph, does your conscience trouble you?" "Most decidedly!" answered his companion sharply, turning towards him. "Why not go and unburden your soul to the police?" "I think it is my duty to do so. But I feel like a coward at the idea. It seems like betraying a friend." "Ah! You still count me your friend. Then, my dear friend, for I assure you I value your good will, I will show you how to act so as to satisfy your conscience, and yet not injure me." "I wish to heaven you would." "Nothing easier. Go to Mr. Barnes and make a clean breast of all that you know." "But that is betraying you to the police." "No; Mr. Barnes is not the police--he is only a private detective. If you remember, he is the very one about whom we were talking when the wager was made. You were boasting of his skill. It should satisfy you then to have him on my track, and it will satisfy me, if you agree to talk with no other. Is it a bargain?" "Yes, since you are willing. I must tell some one in authority. It is impossible for me to withhold what may be the means of detecting a criminal." Mr. Randolph, upon leaving the hotel, went in search of Mr. Barnes. Meanwhile that gentleman was holding a conversation with Wilson. "You say," said the detective, "that Mr. Mitchel gave you the slip again yesterday afternoon?"